Last week I guest posted over at afreeman. Chris(the boy Chris) asked me(the girl Chris) to write about 1995 which made me look back on a difficult, yet pivotal time in my life. It was not an easy post for me since I actually had to reflect, ugh, which made me really tired.

Never one to miss an opportunity to exact a little revenge quid pro quo, I asked Chris(the boy Chris) to guest post over here at la maison du formerlyfun. I thought to myself, what topic can I pick that will equally flummox Chris(the boy Chris)*. Most of us know men are pretty simple straightforward. That old adage that to keep a man happy all you need are blowjobs and pizza isn't really that far off. This being the case, I didn't really need Chris(the boy Chris) to tell us about men. The old line, enough about me why don't you tell me what you think of me came to mind. What better question to ask a somewhat captive male what he thinks about us.

Chris(the boy Chris) shares his little piece of familial heaven with the hard-bargain driving, cutey pie, smarty pants Dr. O'C, boy Z(Chris and I are trying to work out some sort of modernish arranged marriage between his boy and the bebe) and Timmins the dog. Chris would probably pout a little if I was remiss in telling you his lady isn't the only doctor in the family, he is too, but not like a take off your clothes and check you out doctor, more like sit you down and teach you about genomes and shit. So give a warm welcome to Chris

*I briefly dated a Chris(not this Chris), after all it is a very common name and I dated a lot so I was bound to run into a Chris or two. I remember the ensuing confusion. It frequently devolved into a bad he's on first-like sketch. Plus, I could never call out his name during sex, it would have just seemed conceited.

-----------------------------------------------Christ, would you look at all the pink around here? I feel like I’ve walked into Barbie’s boudoir. This makes my job here even more daunting. You see, Chris asked me to do a little guest post for her discussing “a progressive man’s take on female body image”. When I read that I blanched and murmured a despondent “oh, shit”.

You see, there is absolutely no way that I can write this post without getting in to some kind of trouble – with my partner, with my female readers, with Chris. I am a politically progressive kind of guy, a socialist really. But, when it comes to interpersonal, social and gender issues I’m kind of a traditional guy. Not that I think that a woman’s place is in the kitchen or that I want my beloved barefoot and pregnant or that a woman is nothing more than eye candy. But like any warm blooded man, nothing will stop me in my tracks like a scantily clad pretty piece of flesh.

Here’s the ugly truth, ladies: men are attracted by young, slim blondes with big knockers. Now, of course there are personal deviations. I, for example, am a sucker for a redhead. But in general, men of any political persuasion, social background or education accomplishment* come right to attention when confronted with a pair of long legs in a short skirt. It is just part of being a man.

Now, I think Chris had hoped that I was going to give you some insight into why we are reduced to drooling buffoons when confronted with a heaving bosom. As a geneticist, I always ask myself if the root of any behaviour lies embedded in our DNA. In the case of mate preference, probably not. The young thing, sure. Biologically our only job as men is to spread our seed and a young woman offers a better chance of reproductive success. But beyond that, if anything, we would be genetically drawn to small, hairy, wide-hipped women reminiscent of our Pleistocene ancestors and that certainly isn’t the case here in the early 21st century.

Realistically, the body image that most men drool over is a construct of advertising departments throughout the world. This is something that you already knew. Again, speaking personally, I spent my early teenage scanning for bits of bare skin in James Bond films, the Sears Catalog, the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and the occasional purloined Playboy. Inevitably, these objects of my curiosity were airbrushed, slim, busty, babes.

I learned as a young man that the ultimate in womanhood was Cheryl Tiegs, Brooke Shields, Alison Doody and Kelly LeBrock. Mmmm, Kelly LeBrock. There are thousands of reasonably untalented actresses and singers that owe their careers to an unholy alliance of advertising executives’ machinations and the fantasies of teenage boys.

I would now like to try and redeem my sex, or at least myself. Yes, we will stare, drool and yearn over any woman on the street that looks like a Bond girl. And yes, a tidy piece of totty will certainly get our attention more than a frumpy frau. If my beloved hadn’t been the hottest thing in the room on the night that I met her, I probably wouldn’t be where I am today. Equally, if the conversation hadn’t rolled like an out of control eighteen wheeler, we wouldn’t have gotten far either. We, of the shallower sex, are attracted by your physical features but what keeps us coming back for more is far deeper.

My husband lost his job on Tuesday. The consulting firm he's worked for the last few years appears to be shutting down after the cancellation of a major contract and no new projects on the horizon. We are still paying down exorbitant medical bills from both of our hospitalizations. Business at the spa is slow, the luxuries I sell are one of the first things to go when people face financial woes. And yet, I am strangely calm. And infinitely thankful.

Of course I had a moment of self-pity, the exhalation of that feeling of yet another setback just as we'd recovered from the last one. That momentary sense that as the dust settles and we take a deep breath, fate throws us another curve ball, but it was fleeting. It was quickly replaced with a sense that we'll be fine, whatever that means. We have an awfully large safety net, in the form of our own careful financial planning and the larger safety net that is our families. I thought for a moment about the people losing jobs or facing other economic uncertainty already treading water, just a few short paychecks away from catastrophic problems.

This bad news has also left me with a sense of solidarity and perspective. My husband and I are a really good team. It doesn't hurt that I could live in a trailer with that man eating crappy vegetarian meatloaf and buying clothes at the goodwill and as long as he told me I was beautiful and looked at me the way he does and held me when I go all neurotic on him, as long as we were together, we would be okay. After this year's medical woes, particularly his, I am reminded that this is the only thing that is important. Everything else is tangential.

I used to deal most poorly with uncertainty. I have spent many a time comforted by a sense that I have control of things, losing my mind when I felt like things were out of my hands. I've reached a point where I guess I understand that all of the really important things are out of my hands anyhow. I know we'll do all of the things we need to, our part to fix this, it goes without saying. I have faith in our ability to get past nearly anything thrown our way. So this Thanksgiving I am thankful for being in a place where I trust us. The rest will unfold however it will, but I trust us and that's the only thing I know for sure.

Chris, one of my favorite bloggers and probably one of only a handful of men who can hold my interest for more than five minutes, asked me to guest post for him. This week a lot of bloggers got all introspective and delved deep into their pasts. Chris was not immune to this reflection and asked me to use '1995' as my jumping off point. So you can find my Friday post here, if you need any extra incentive to click over, there are two embarrassing pictures of me from 1995 and one has cleavage.

Several years ago, I bought my mom a scarf for Christmas. I picked it out specifically with her in mind. She's a brunette with olive skin and she looks beautiful in the scarf's browns and golds. I sent it carefully wrapped in tissue in a distinctive box. So I was fit to be tied the next Christmas when I got my scarf back as a gift. To be fair, she sent me a whole giant box of Christmas presents, most of them picked out just for me but she no doubt grabbed a few more things to fill the box and assuage my first Christmas alone and my scarf was one of them. She's my mom so of course I totally called her out on it.

"Uh, nice mom, you sent me the scarf I gave you last year. You are such a dork."

"Did no such thing, that was not the scarf you sent me, that was a different scarf."

"No, it was the exact same Jones New York, shades of autumn silk scarf, I remember because picking it out I thought about how nice it would look with your mink.”

“Uh, how'd you like the black skirt I sent you?", she said hastily changing the subject.

My mom is a terrible regifter and has given me my own presents back more than once. She has also mistakenly regifted a book that was inscribed to her and wormy chocolates, though in her defense she was in a five minute mad dash to find a Christmas gift for a unexpected guest.My grandmother, on my mother's side, also has slightly odd habits when it comes to gift-giving. She has what we call the 'prize closet' where throughout the year, well okay, throughout the last thirty years, she has stocked with all manner of good deals. Big Lots, the Dollar Stores, Tuesday Morning, you name it, she hunts of the best bargains.Come Christmas or birthday time, Grandma takes a trip to the closet and picks out your gift. It always warms my heart when I get two pairs of pinstriped trouser socks, utility shears and a cut glass mobile. It warms my heart because I've received this wonderful trio several years in a row. I can't tell you how valuable multiple pairs of scissors are when you live with an eight-year old and husband constantly abdicating your implements for weird eight-year old boy experiments and MacGuyveresque tool usage by the hubs.So does the apple fall far from the tree you ask, am I also a dirty little regifter? Admittedly, I am. I am very particular and also a minimalist so if something isn't my style or in my opinion superfluous, it goes straight into the gift bin, yes I have a dedicated bin. Olive oil dipping bowls from the mother-in-law? Gift bin. The vaguely Christian trivets that implore me to 'believe', and have 'faith' yep, the gift bin. The kiwi/wild cherry body wash? Well, actually that went to the goodwill because I got a whiff of it and I wouldn't pawn that liquid evil off on anyone.

The bin is also filled with our Christmas overflow of kids presents. With multiple grandparents, great grandparents, aunts and uncles, our kids get so many gifts it's embarrassing. If we let them at it all, we'd no doubt end up with a bunch of Veruca Salts, Daddy I want a golden egg!” So instead we shelve a chunk of them. We use them later for friends birthday presents and good report card ataboys.So yes, I am an unapologetic regifter, but I have a system. Before they go in the bin, gifts are marked with the year received and the gifter, thus avoiding embarrassing regifts to the original giftee. Gifts are only regifted when the fit is good. The vaguely Christian trivets? Our bible thumping nanny thanked me for completing her set. The sugar cookie scented bath set, perfect fit for my young assistant. I regift out of a sense of thrift and repurposing.

This will be a difficult Christmas for far too many people. Money is tight, people are worried about their jobs, homes, and more. So eschew consumerism, that's not what Christmas was about anyway. Go out and be merry and regift with fervor. Not only is it thrifty, it's green and will surely stem the shopocalypse just a little longer. Just don't send any kiwi/wild cherry body wash my way or I'll cut you.

You have to click on this to see it full size. This is the actual letter I wrote to Santa in 1979, when I was a wee 6 years old. You know when I look at this kind of thing retrospectively, my take on it changes. Here's what I see now:

1. I am a giant Santa ass-kisser. How many times did I really need to tell Santa that I love him? After the second time, it just seems insincere.

2. I gave Santa way too much personal information. Of course I have blackened it out for the interwebs, don't want Santa tracking me down now.

3. My grammar and spelling are pretty much the same as they are now.

4. "I might have some cookies"? I guess even then I was a gigantic tease. "I might have some cookies," I bet Santa was thinking, "well, bitch, I might have some presents."

5. Why did I draw myself all googly eyed and retarded looking? Santa looks just fine but not my picture. Let it be known that I did not have a lazy eye growing up, that picture is wholly inaccurate.

6. Why am I dressed just like Santa? Was I perhaps posturing to be the next Mrs. Claus when Santa traded up for a younger, less "jolly" model? Yeah, I trade favors for presents, so?

I don't often link to people. One, I'm self-absorbed and assume you want to read what I write. Two, many of us frequent the same places so if I read something great, chances are you did too.

This morning, my husband and I were arguing. It was about oatmeal and chiropractors, critical stuff really. When we get like this, we call ourselves The Bickersons. Of course we tease about it later because even with oatmeal, it sure seems important at the time.

So when I happened upon a favorite writer of mine, Strange Dark Gypsy Girl, this post summed it up. Rather than take the time to use her post as a springboard of inspiration for my own, I thought I'd just link to it because I don't think I could say it any better.

We are coming to that magical time of year, the time that all parents look forward to with hope and expectation. Do I speak of Christmas? No, I'm talking about the time from now until Christmas when we parents get to use Santa as a threat against bad behavior.

Santa's not going to like that.

I wouldn't talk like that if I were you, you know who is watching your every move.

You think Santa likes when you wipe your nose on your sleeve?

What do you think Santa brings little boys who tease their sisters?

Go ahead, do what you want, but I'm going to have a good long talk with Santa about it.

The threat of a meager gift outpouring works wonders on my eight year old who goes to sleep each night not with visions of sugarplums but rather flight simulator video games, electric scooters and Captain Underpants books. He is beginning to ask questions about the whole Santa business. He's very logical so questions of physics and time have been asked and the answer of “magic” is wasted on him.

He's starting to catch on and I'm guessing by next year he will have finally made the transition fully. Boy is he going to be pissed when he realizes the threat of Santa was just a paper tiger. He's going to be surprised to find even we don't have control over the grandparents rampant consumerism. No matter how we plea for fewer plastic toys and more money for their college funds, the Grandparents show up each year with what looks like the entire contents of the children's section of Big Lots.

I think I'm going to start pushing the kids to ask Grandma and Grandpa for the stuff we want, summer camp for our oldest, weekends at Grandma's all around, maybe a hot tub, now that's something I could really get behind.

An antispasmodic and a sedative, cool. Those fifties chicks sure knew how to medicate, big on the barbiturates. It sounds calming but just looking at those creepy dolls is making me want something to take the edge off, hmmm, maybe I could ask my doc for some Butibel.

I have family visiting and have had little time to write. I do, however, have a few reflections on the recent family visit. 1.My grandmother makes a poppy seed cake that has always been my favorite. While she visiting, I asked her to make the cake with me so I can make it for the hubs and kids from time to time. I bought the bundt pan before she arrived but waited to buy the coveted ingredients that would make this little piece of culinary nirvana. I got a sifter, a new set of measuring implements since most of mine had fallen in the possession of the bebe. I even dusted off my Kitchen-Aid Mixer used mostly for mixing up custom concoctions for the spa. Um, the secret recipe? Betty Crocker yellow cake with some poppy seeds and a little almond flavoring. Not the secret I thought it would be. At least the frosting wasn't from a can. Frosting was one package cream cheese, a half stick of butter and two cups powdered sugar. There, that's the recipe, now you can replicate one of my fondest childhood memories.2.My mother and I argue about politics a lot. I pretty much refuse to engage her because she is dogmatic teetering on the edge of fanaticism. She is Republican with a capital R and I am a fiscally conservative, socially liberal tree hugger. I have lived here in California for eight years now and every time she visits me or I visit her, I have to steel myself against the political discussions because I only get to see her once in awhile and don't need to waste time arguing or getting my knickers twisted. All the visits back and forth, all the times I had to implore her, please let's not talk about this, it never ends well. All the times I had to bite my tongue wanting to unleash. I always thought she couldn't help but discuss politics because she works in an environment where politics are part of her paycheck, I thought this would never change. She came out for a visit just two days after Barack Obama won the 2008 Presidential election. Guess what? She had nothing to say. I can't lie, it feels good to be on the winning team, and I didn't even get my pom-poms out around her, after all these years, I think I showed amazing restraint. 3."I like your hair much better this time than that last cut of yours," is not a compliment, maybe just say "I like your hair." 4.It's super fun getting the bebe to do all her silly baby tricks around my mom and grandma, watching them watch her is like seeing it all with a fresh set of eyes. Hearing my mom and grandma brag about how clever she is and how good natured she is makes me beam. You know babies really are the best peacemakers, maybe we should send a bunch of babies to the middle east, no?5.It's a good thing I don't bake that often because although I love having all of my favorite grandma treats(even if they come out of a box), I have probably gained five pounds in four days. 6.My family are a bunch of frenetic hard workers, they did a days worth of work in my front garden that would have taken me weeks and my husband got to knock one thing of his honey do list by unloading some plants and digging a few holes for the big stuff.7.Speaking of the hubs, my husband is amazing, he is so good with women it's a little scary. He spans zero-eighty-eight effortlessly, people, he does it all. I swear, almost nothing gets under that mans skin, I study him but I haven't figured out how he's does it yet.

Thursday my mother and grandmother came to stay with us in sunny California. My mom went home on Sunday leaving my grandmother and my aunt will come in this Thursday and take Grandma home with her. It's been a good visit, they babysat while hubs and I went to a wedding on Saturday which is the first time in a long time we didn't have to pay for a sitter and the kids had a blast milking the grandmas for every last piece of candy and minutes up past their bedtime.

Hubs was a groomsman and wore full on Scottish regalia. There is a lot that goes into the kilt outfit he wore, for the first time in our marriage, he took longer to get ready than I did. He had wool knee highs(hubbahubba) with little ribbon clips(girlie) and then a dagger sticking out of the socks(to offset the girlie factor). He had crazy laces on his shoes, a furry pouch that sat right about crouch area looking like a giant muff. He referred to it as his hairy sack all night. It was quite the get up although I got to fulfill my longstanding Braveheart fantasies. When he came out, our son looked at him quizzically, our bebe tried to hide under his skirt and our four year old asked him if he was going to battle.

I have talked a little bit about some of the more odd clients I have serviced at the spa. There was no good, stinky, hairpants lady and of course my first manzilian. It should be known that most of my clients are perfectly normal men and women who just want less body and facial hair, fewer wrinkles, clearer pores, softer skin, well-groomed eyebrows, dark lashes, pretty hands and feet and unkinked muscles. Still,when you work on enough people, some of them are going to fly their freak flags higher than others.

One of the things I sometimes ask new clients toward the end of their wax is,

"So is anyone going to appreciate my handiwork herebesides you?”

Usually the client will tell me about her boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or potential hookup. So imagine my surprise when I asked Darlene* this same question and she informed me that my work would be appearing on film, uncredited of course.

"Huh? Wuh?"

I was a little confused and she read it on my face.

”I'm doing a porn tomorrow.”

“Really.” I said, trying to keep an even un-myjawjustdroppedonthefloorohmygodreallynoreallynoreally?

I had pegged her as a possible stripper when she came in. She was tall, thin, big fake boob stretched unnaturally taut against her bony chest, Juicy Couture velour pants in cotton candy pink, a nearly see through white wifebeater, too much fake tan, belly ring, tongue ring, and a stumbly-swagger from what seemed to be a creative cocktail of prescription meds.

I have a pretty big roster of the strippers, nice girls really, many of them a little broken, a little lewd, oversharers, I'm not always right but after waxing so many, I get a sense for these things. I can also spot the recently divorced women edging their way back into the dating world, the married ladies trying to spice things up a little and women who are on my table in spite of their reticence and fear because their mate suggested it.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I had a million questions, she offered the information so I figured at this point there was very little verboten. Is this your first one? No. Have you been doing this for awhile? Yes. What, what kind of films do you do? Oh, wow all that hmm, what don't you do? Does anyone do that? What's your stage name? (Mental note to self to burn this into my memory so I can unfiltered results google her later.)What's it like? Are you enjoying yourself at all? Didn't think so. How much money do you make? That's it? Really? I really thought it would be more. Does your family know? Do you like your job?

She was really forthcoming with the intel, the only thing that threw me off was the next time she came in to get a microdermabrasion facial, her murmurs of pleasure were just a little too hedonistic for my liking. I didn't want any clients to hear her and think we offered a little extra if you asked real nice.

And the answer is yes. Yes, I remembered her name. Yes, I unfiltered google searched her. Yes, I watched the clip, ok, all the clips. All I can say is I am meticulous, and her next set of films were going to be looking even better.

Most of you are aware of the analytics that allow us bloggers to track stuff like where our readers are coming from, how long they're staying and what search engine key words and phrases bring new visitors to our sites. I don't pay too much attention to it but I do get a big kick out of some of the searches that bring people to formerlyfun. So here's a recap of the most popular and odd searches.

And the winners are...Manzilian This of course because of my feature on the first man I ever manscaped, boy brazilians getting people pretty pumped up apparently because this one comes up a lot.Jesus SweaterMaking our Christmas lists maybe?

She just frosted my face like a cakeWith this, they landed a story about a laser peel I had, I was talking about them frosting my face with numbing gel, what do you think they were talking about, hmmmm.

Traci Lords cosmetic surgeryTraci Lords boobsTraci Lords all over her faceI've lumped these together, there were a few other variations but too pervy for even me. This search took them to my post on getting gawked at for what I thought was looking good, but turned out to be something else, ugh.

where can I get a neuralizerThis landed them here, I think it's cool that there's at least a few people who think they can buy a neuralizer on the internet, hmmm, try craigslist.red shoe diary/diariesBet they are pretty surprised when this search takes them here, to a video of my bebe clomping around in her red Mary Janes.

And the runners up...birkin marie antoinetteThis one is a runner up because type in the word birkin marie antoinette and you get what is still to date, my most controversial post.how to do the fleet ez-prepI feel a little bad for this one because someone is looking for directions on doing the pre-colonoscopy EZ-Prep and lands on my image of Fleet Ez Prep photoshopped to look like the devil, I m sure that's comforting.

cat kneading pelvic thrusts is he masturbatingPeople have questions, I have answers, yes he is.

special olympics dopingJust because they're special doesn't mean they aren't competitive.

young gay swimwearLot's of people searching for this one, I think it's a bit of a fetish really.W

baby vampiresWith all of the vampire series and books all the rage for now, is it any wonder people are concerned about the influx of baby vampires?olestra side effectswhen your sliding into home and your pants are filled with foam(perhaps related to the Olestra side effects)This one needs no explanation.

Honorable mention for sheer volume of hits...beautiful vaginaWhy thank you, however, I don't know where this actually took the searcher.words to describe a moodI get a ton of this one and it's variants which tells me there are quite a few people who are trying to put words to how they feel.

Italian stereotypesIs someone trying to find hurtful invectives to cast in someones direction or is someone trying to know at what point to feign insult?

Montel Williams deathI wrote this a long time ago. People ran the original comment a long time ago. Still, people are not sure whether he is alive or dead.signs a man is gayLots of these searches originate in the Middle East and also with file extensions like .catholic.org and .vatican.org, hmmm.

This was for me, the democratic process at it's finest, high voter turnout, real discussion and a mandate for a different road than we've travelled for a while. People feeling that their vote was important, many voters gaining a sense of efficacy they had not had before. I am proud that our country has crossed a bridge with regard to racial equity.

This is momentous. I am full of optimism for what it must mean to the millions of African American youth that have another very positive role model to build upon and for what it means to my own children to live in a country where opportunity isn't reserved for a select few.

I am overwhelmed. I am encouraged. I am relieved. Quite frankly, I am also a little jubilant about being on the winning team for the first time in eight years.

I respect both President elect Barack Obama and John McCain and I earnestly respect the process.

On a more local note but also a fundamentally important issue, the results for a Constitutional ban on gay marriage rights, have not been announced.

Yesterday was a rough day. The bebe got a reaction to her Varicella(chicken pox) vaccination and got a 'mini' version of the pox. It's rarely contagious but she's all spotty and a bit cranky and out of sorts. She is also cutting her two top teeth which just adds more fun to the mix.

Yesterday she was nearly inconsolable. She didn't know what she wanted. She'd beg to be held only to start crying a minute later writhing to get down. She'd ask for a bottle and then throw it to the ground when I gave it to her. I knew she was in some pain thus unable to really be comforted but jeez, for me as a mom, there's almost nothing worse than knowing something's wrong and there's little I can do to fix it. She usually takes two naps and instead slept for a solid fifteen minutes before she was woken by the doorbell and never went back down.

After seven hours of this, my patience was wearing thin. I finally tried to take her in the shower with me. It's her favorite place and she'll play happily no matter how gassy or fussy she is as long as the warm water flows freely. Not this time, she refused to sit down which is dangerous enough I finally had to exit the shower with slightly soapy hair and a giant chip forming on my shoulder. So here I was getting all torqued up, even worse was nobody was to blame, it just was one of those days.

Husband came home and I felt so disconnected. He suggested I go lay down "Not tired," I told him. Why don't you go out for awhile he offered, "don't want to go anywhere." What do you want to do he asked, "I don't know what I want," I finally relented. Again, there's that disconnected feeling as if I'm standing outside of myself trying to figure out what I want or need, ugh. It was one of those days where it feels like everybody needs a piece of me and after a while, there's nothing left.

Still, today was a new day. The spots are fading, bebe napped on her usual schedule giving me a break to recharge. She's been a puddle of snuggles and affection which are the best reward for all of the other less than fun parts of parenthood. Days like these just reinforce that feeling that no matter how bad a day it is, go to sleep and you wake up and almost certainly, it'll be different.

Based on its advertising, Reader's Digest is for very sick people. I have never seen so many ads for prescription medication, not even in magazines like Prevention or the Great Big Magazine of Prescription Medication or RX Fancy. You could play a drinking game where every time you read the words, "Ask your doctor" you take a drink and you'd pass out before you even got halfway through the Reader's Digest.

Reader's Digest also holds the Guinness World record for most inserts ever. I picked up a copy at my Grandma's and so many little 3x5 cards for things like commemorative coins, weird looking fetus dolls and figurines came out that the weight of it crushed my Grandma's dog. Reader's Digest, fucking heartless I tell you. Rest in peace Eleanor Woofsvelt.

One of the medications advertised was for Restless Leg Syndrome which lists as a warning symptom compulsiveness in sexual habits. My husband keeps suggesting that I should at least give it a try but I don't even have restless leg syndrome. A bunch of other pharma ads suggested you call or write in for a free pamphlet on the disease. You know some bored old lady is writing in just to get something free or to get mail back. Or hoping someone she knows is going to get the ailment and she can say, "Oh Madge, I have a book on that, why don't you come over for some rolls and coffee and I'll show it to you."What is it about free stuff that makes people mental. Have you seen the women on shows like Oprah. Some of the stuff I can understand, I mean if someone gave me a car , a vacation or a new kitchen, I would definitely jump up and down and there would be hugs all around, but screaming over things like a pint of ice cream, a cookbook? My grandma goes bonkers at the golf course taking handfuls of those stubby pencils with no erasers. Hey Grandma, why don't you let me treat you to a nice box of Berol #2s, seriously, it's on me.

It's Saturday morning and I've officially overloaded on Halloween candy. I've stuffed my craw with more Twizzlers, Sweettarts and Swedish fish in fifteen hours than I do all year. Hubs is nursing his own chocolate hangover. He goes for the chocolaty stuff while I'm all about the sugar. It is like a hangover because at the very thought of candy, I get a little queasy and a giant bowl of spinach sounds deliciously recuperative. Our house is awash in little cellophane wrappers and the kids all look a little green. Even the bebe looked wierd last night, slighty oxygen deprived, blue cast around the mouth but that's probably because she had a tiny handful of blue mini M&Ms. Still, a good time was had by all and it will be another year before we approach this level of indulgence again.